A Knight Who Eternally Regresses Novel - Chapter 679

Chapter 679

“Why do I feel so irritated?”
Rem grumbled to himself as he watched the group disappear into the distance.
Beside him, Audin let out a quiet chuckle.
“He must have experienced some kind of epiphany.”
He was talking about the state Ragna was in.
“Either that, or he’s finally lost his mind.”
“That is certainly a possibility.”
Rem shifted his gaze toward Audin.
The night before Enkrid departed, Rem had witnessed him sparring with Audin.
Specifically, Enkrid had approached out of nowhere with a sudden plea.
“I want to test myself against you before I head out.”
Seeking a duel on the very eve of a long journey?
For Enkrid, such a request was perfectly characteristic.
Rem hadn’t been worried—right up until the moment Enkrid was defeated.
It wasn’t just a loss; it was a total lopsided beating.
During their clash, Audin had questioned him.
“Did you gain much insight?”
“A bit.”
In Rem’s eyes, Enkrid was the type of person who would welcome death if it meant mastering one final blade technique with his dying breath.
It was a passing observation, yet it rang perfectly true.
Enkrid had reached this point by dying and reliving the same 24 hours countless times, dragging himself forward through sheer will.
“You mentioned blocking with the swell and striking with the radiance?”
“Correct.”
“By doing that, you’re exposing your core style entirely.”
“It seems so.”
“Tactically speaking, that’s reckless. But I assume you realize that being foolish doesn’t make it the wrong choice.”
Rem found himself agreeing, though he kept his silence.
The fanatical bear beastkin had articulated everything perfectly.
With dark bruising around his eyes, Enkrid simply gave a nod.
Had the strike been any more precise, his eye might have been lost—but his frame possessed the resilience of tempered plate.
When he attacked, he hadn’t quite reached the peak of his own martial discipline, but when he defended, he had.
He had reflexively summoned his Will to shield his vitals.
How was it that he only managed to get that specific part right?
‘Because he’s been thrashed so many damn times.’
That was the only logic Rem could find.
He had endured so many physical assaults that, when it came to absorbing damage, his body used Will to protect itself by pure instinct.
If only he could apply that same flow to his offensive strikes…
To warriors like Rem, Audin, Jaxon, and Ragna, his inability to bridge that gap was baffling.
If one can operate a handle with the left hand, why not the right?
And yet, for him, the connection failed.
It would typically be infuriating to watch someone who had already reached knighthood and occasionally surpassed you still struggle to grow at such a glacial pace.
However, it wasn’t actually that annoying.
They had long ago accepted that he walked a fundamentally different road.
“He’ll return as a better man.”
Rem dismissed his wandering thoughts and spoke aloud.
He was slow—but he never stopped.
That was the essence of Enkrid.
“I don’t doubt it,” Audin agreed with a nod.
“And since that aimless fool might be preparing to meet his end, perhaps we should start rehearsing the funeral rites.”
Rem spoke with a mix of dark humor and spite—but his intuition was terrifyingly accurate.
Ragna’s shift in demeanor stemmed from the realization of his own mortality.
“There’s no way, is there?”
Audin was well aware of Ragna’s prowess.
Even though Audin was considered the most talented among the war apostles, he had to admit Ragna possessed a unique quality.
His ability to grasp profound truths through moments of absolute focus was something that couldn’t be taught or mimicked.
He didn’t envy it, though.
Audin understood his own nature.
He knew the value of nurturing what he already possessed.
Since he only knew how to advance one step at a time, he would continue to do exactly that.
And his captain, who had embraced his guidance, would follow that same path.

—

Enkrid and his companions departed the city, setting off in a general direction.
The weather was exceptionally clear from the first day.
It made sense given the region.
In the lands north of the border, spring saw a sharp decline in precipitation.
Rain was a rarity.
While summer might bring tempests, the current days were warm and tranquil.
A misty drizzle was the most they could expect; a heavy storm was unlikely.
Legend said that the drier the spring, the more violent the summer gales—but that was a problem for another day.
“If we push the mounts toward the right flank of the Pen-Hanil Mountains—well, your people don’t use that name. We call that section the wing. Following that route will let us cross over.”
The only complication at the start had been restraining Ragna, who was determined to lead the way.
“If you’re at the front, we’ll have circled the entire continent by sunrise,” Enkrid told him, bringing him back to earth.
“Hey, was it Sena? Get him under control.”
Grida poked Anne with her elbow.
“It’s Anne. I’m getting tired of correcting you. That’s five times now.”
“Oh, my bad. I’ll just call you Freckles then.”
“That’s even worse.”
Anne took the jab in stride and grabbed Ragna by the arm.
“Try to stay with my pace. I’m not exactly an expert at this.”
In truth, her posture in the saddle suggested she was more than capable—she looked professional.
Ragna didn’t fight her on it.
“This is no time to sweat the small stuff.”
This happened just as they cleared the city gates.
Magrun immediately urged his horse forward.
“Hyah! Faster!”
Odinkar and Grida kept pace, with Enkrid following close behind.
Ragna and Anne naturally brought up the rear.
Though they had no deadline, they began a grueling forced march.
“Why linger on the path? Our horses won’t last more than ten days at this rate anyway. Until then, we fly. It’s the only logical move.”
Those were Magrun’s words.
They were a group that loathed wasting time in transit.
They preferred to ride all day so they could fit in one more sword session at night.
Enkrid couldn’t have asked for better partners.
For Anne, however, the pace was grueling.
“Are you people out of your minds?”
Despite her complaints, Anne didn’t fall behind.
She was driven by a mission: to diagnose the nature of the malady as quickly as possible.
Or more accurately, to eradicate it.
That was her level of commitment.
“I promised myself. If a plague like this is still hurting people, I will be the one to face it.”
She had shared that thought briefly with Ragna.
Enkrid had overheard.
The days blurred together—riding while the sun was up, resting when it vanished.
During those hours, Enkrid retreated into his own mind to sort through his thoughts.
He found that these long, undistracted stretches sharpened his focus.
He left the care of Ragna to Anne.
Magrun took charge of the maps.
Grida handled the campsite logistics.
This allowed him to set aside all minor distractions.
His mind was entirely occupied by the lessons Audin had imparted.
He hadn’t requested that final spar just for the sake of it.
Enkrid had felt an instinctive void in his own style—and Audin had confirmed its existence.
‘Everyone is figuring out how to bypass my best move far too easily.’
It was only practice for now, but if it persisted, it would bleed into life-or-death struggles.
A battle he should win could easily turn into a fatal loss.
Rem, Ragna, Audin, and Jaxon had all pierced his wave-style defense.
Grida had seen right through his tactical patterns.
Odinkar’s blade was starting to show the same progress.
Even in his talks with Magrun, the trend was obvious.
“You’re becoming a bit easy to read,” Grida had remarked once.
Her ability to observe was uncanny.
If Lua Gharne were present, would she have reached the same conclusion?
Skill aside, that Frokk possessed incredible perception.
Lua Gharne had gone off for specialized training with Teresa and Shinar, so Enkrid hadn’t seen her before they left.
He pondered.
He analyzed.
He replayed the final moments of his duel with Audin.
Audin, bolstered by his sacred armor, frequently feigned gaps in his defense only to seal them himself.
It wasn’t a lack of form.
‘It’s misdirection.’
He intentionally displayed openings and left himself seemingly vulnerable.
He used that very deception as a weapon.
The moment an opponent labeled Audin as “slow,” they had already lost.
He was more powerful, more analytical, and more practiced than anyone in the group—yet he never hesitated to use trickery.
Just because you had a specialty didn’t mean you were restricted to it.
What about Sir Jamal of the Azpen Royal Knights?
‘He kept his best card hidden until the end.’
It didn’t mean making lies your primary focus.
It meant being able to utilize every tool in your inventory.
Oara had once criticized him for being too disorganized, trying to do too much.
She told him to shed the excess.
Was it a form of greed that pushed him to try and merge it all?
Had he taken a wrong turn?
Enkrid was only human.
Doubt occasionally clouded his mind.
A cold shiver would run down his spine.
An omen of failure would make his pulse quicken.
But it only lasted a heartbeat.
If he had allowed fear to dictate his actions, he would have remained stuck in “the best today” a long time ago.
What do you do when fear strikes?
You swing the sword.
That was the lesson of his experience.
Besides, he didn’t have many other options.
So, he categorized his thoughts by day and honed his edge by night.
To an observer, it must have looked tedious and monotonous.
But—
“The training you do today will keep you alive tomorrow.”
That was Ragna, who had transformed from a lazy rogue into the definition of hard work.
Everyone else just gaped at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“I am aware,” Enkrid replied evenly.
And he continued his practice.
Magrun watched him, unable to hide his astonishment.
‘Does he honestly expect to die tomorrow?’
Perhaps he did.
That was how these legacies worked.
They take root early and slowly drain the life from you.
In his own case, the decay had moved faster than normal.
That was why he had a legacy he wanted to leave behind.
His entire existence was dedicated to that goal.
To etch his name into the history of Zaun.
That was the path of Magrun Zaun.
Yet even he had never subjected himself to such a punishing routine.
Enkrid had been relentless since they passed the city walls.
He treated every grueling, heavy day the same way.
He did things that even Magrun hesitated to attempt.
It was impossible not to be moved by it.
“Magrun, do you have time for a set?”
That night, Enkrid even invited him to duel.
He knew he couldn’t win on pure technique.
He would never scale that wall, not even if he spent a lifetime trying.
Rem was formidable, but in terms of persistence during practice, Enkrid was on another level.
Magrun, despite his blunt personality, was quick to respect merit.
It was one of his finer traits.
Because of it, he had a keen eye for form and could absorb lessons faster than most.
That was why people said he had a natural gift for mastery.
‘But this man is slow.’
Magrun had encountered plenty of prodigies.
Growing up in Zaun, it was inevitable.
None of them possessed the sluggish talent of the man standing before him.
And yet, Enkrid was the most impressive of them all.
That was Magrun’s perspective.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Clash!
Metal met metal, and the duel began.
After a quick series of strikes, Magrun emerged the victor.
And this was the primary reason he held Enkrid in such high regard.
“I’ve been beaten.”
Enkrid knew how to accept a loss.
“Indeed,” Magrun nodded.
Then Enkrid spoke again.
“Will you tell me what you noticed?”
“There are a few points.”
Magrun dispassionately explained what he had observed and felt.
Enkrid asked for clarification, repeated the advice, and nodded.
Yes, disregard everything else—this was the truth of it.
To know how to lose, and to embrace it with this mindset—no amount of raw power could match that.
‘He exposes himself completely, showing every flaw.’
He sought help to improve, not through begging or fake praise—but with total honesty.
He listened, probed, and requested with a sincere heart.
Could someone who was truly weak engage in this kind of dialogue?
It was difficult.
Incredibly so.
Even back in Zaun.
Usually, the strong pulled the weak along.
In a place like Zaun, where competition was the only law, that was even more pronounced.
But Enkrid shattered that dynamic.
He knew how to lose.
He kept an open mind, admitted his faults, and accepted his shortcomings.
How could that be anything but remarkable?
Magrun wasn’t the only one who recognized this.
Odinkar felt it too.
Grida didn’t even need to vocalize it.
Ragna even went out of his way to push Enkrid harder.
“If you start holding back to hide your style, you’re finished. Don’t you realize that? If not, do it again. Again!”
Ragna was more intense than he had ever been.
If Shinar had seen him, she would have called it igniculus—the moment the spark catches.
Enkrid didn’t waste a single second of the trip.
Even while in the saddle, he was training his mind.
The path they traveled had no outposts or guards, so the beasts and monsters they encountered became perfect training dummies and offerings.
Watching his companions fight was a classroom.
Meditating on the lessons he learned through his own combat was even better.
As the riding portion of their journey drew to a close—
Form, technique, physical prowess, tactical logic, strategy, awareness, judgment, resolve, courage—
Enkrid realized that all of these elements had to exist in perfect unison to carry any weight.
“They have to become one.”
What was required to reach that state?
A flurry of images and memories tore through his consciousness.
His mind opened like a massive gate.
The process of pulling answers from his mental archives accelerated—and he found the answer in an instant.
“The hands that prepare the meat.”
In the dusty corners of his memory, something humble appeared.
From that quiet memory came the sound of Aitri’s hammer.
Frokk’s steady, reliable hands working beside him.
The colossus who had transformed into a polished trader.
The shopkeep crafting marmalade.
The shoemaker stitching leather—
Every one of them rushed to the surface at the same time.